Remember, the first ripple in still water is always the most unexpected. It folds time like a crumpled piece of paper, revealing the secrets of the past with each concentric circle.
Instruct yourself to observe the boundaries of thought, as they bleed into perception's edges. When the light hits just right, they shimmer with a truth we often forget. Like the wayward sock beneath the bed, unaccounted yet hauntingly present.
To listen to the echoes of that summer, when the wind sang through the little shutters of your childhood home, is to engage in the delicate art of remembering. Angela's laughter intertwined with the **school bell's ring**, yet this was a different story altogether.
How to catch a thought slipping through your fingers like warm sand. Use the cold embrace of reflection to reshape it, to mold into an unrecognizable silhouette. Perhaps a face, perhaps a landscape. Or simply the distant hum of an unsung melody.
Confessions you never made to the mirror that pretends to listen.